


Safety of Your Arms

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas Isn't Canon, Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Garcia Flynn: Little Spoon, Gratuitous fluff in the end, Hurt/Comfort, Post Rittenhouse, Someone please hold him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: Fights were thankfully rare between them, but they were always rough, two broken pieces cutting each other deeply. (They'd come so far, but sometimes, her mother's voice was too loud in her head, and sometimes, the blood on his hands was too much for him to handle.)





	Safety of Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Back to my regularly scheduled Garcy. A Tumblr anon requested Garcia Flynn being the little spoon, and my brain ran away with it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas.

The first time, it was after a fight.   
  
Fights were thankfully rare between them, but they were always rough, two broken pieces cutting each other deeply. (They'd come so far, but sometimes, her mother's voice was too loud in her head, and sometimes, the blood on his hands was too much for him to handle.)   
  
They'd only been married a week, barely settled into their new home together, when it started. It went on late into the night, and soon, it was nearly three in the morning. They knew the old adage, 'Don't go to bed angry,' but they were both dead on their feet, and they knew it would only get worse. Finally, reluctantly, they slipped under the covers together, agreeing to talk again in the morning.   
  
Before long, the dark stillness calmed his mind, and he turned to look at Lucy, stiff beside him. Swallowed hard. Reached for her, wrapping an arm around her waist. (They wouldn't always agree. He knew that. But he never, ever wanted her to fall asleep wondering if he loved her.)   
  
Unexpectedly, she jerked away, refusing to meet his eyes. Utterly tense, as if waiting for him to reach again. He didn't, of course. Wouldn't force anything. But a slow coil of panic started to form in his stomach.   
  
This was just a fight, right? They'd talk in the morning, make up, and everything would be fine.   
  
It wasn't like she was going to leave him.  
  
Right?   
  
(But old insecurities crept in, dark and unrelenting. He didn't deserve her. Could never hope to be good enough for her. Maybe Wyatt would have been more understanding, wouldn't have let things turn to a fight. What if she wanted to go back to him?   
  
Long ago, Flynn promised himself not to push her for anything in the world, but things were different now. They were married. Was he really supposed to let her go without protest? He wasn't sure he was capable of it anymore.)  
  
By morning, he had worked himself into a panic, having hardly slept a wink. When she rolled to face him, he cleared his throat, sitting up beside her. Desperately holding her gaze. "Lucy, please stay. I'm sorry for everything, I shouldn't have-"   
  
Her eyes widened, and she pulled herself up, resting a hand on his arm. He stared at the point of contact, half-contemplating clinging to it.   
  
"Garcia-"  
  
"Please." He gathered his courage. Traced his thumb over her hand. "I don't want to lose you."   
  
"Oh, Garcia." She sounded absolutely heartbroken. In the next instant, she pulled him into her arms, his face hidden in the crook of her neck. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, breathing her in. "I'm not leaving. Okay? That's not-yes, I was mad, but that doesn't mean-" He tried to focus on her words, but the immense relief washing over him was more than a little distracting. For what was possibly the first time all night, his heart beat steadily in his chest. "I don't want to lose you, either," she whispered. "And... It wasn't all your fault."   
  
He was trembling, knew he was, but could seem to stop. "I just thought-when you pulled away, I-"  
  
She made a soft noise of understanding, and pushed him back slightly, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I was upset. When you tried to put your arm around me, it made me feel claustrophobic. Trapped. I wasn't shutting you out. I just couldn't handle being shut in. Okay?"   
  
He nodded, would probably have agreed to anything just in that instant, and rested his forehead against hers. "I love you," he whispered, just to make sure she knew. He could feel her smile against his face.   
  
"I love you, too."   
-  
The next time they fought, he tried to remember that. Tried to respect her space, and not force himself into it. He turned to face away from her, to keep himself from reaching for her. (Because he was already regretting the fight. It was stupid and small, and if he'd been running on more sleep, he probably wouldn't have even gotten upset. He desperately wanted to hold her, but he could not, would not push her.)   
  
He stared into the darkness, forcing himself to breathe. Everything would be alright. He just had to wait until daylight.  
  
Then, unexpectedly, an arm settled around his waist, followed by a warm weight against his back. Lucy. He could hear her sharp breaths, could feel the anger still coming off of her in waves, but still she was making sure that he knew she wasn't leaving him, that they could talk in the morning. His heart swelled just a little more.

“I love you,” he whispered into the darkness, and though he didn’t need her to say it back-he could feel it in the way she held him close-he couldn’t help but smile when she did.  
  
Somehow, that night, he slept.   
-  
It took him several days to figure out how to bring it up. Comfort had been a rare thing in his life for far too long, and even now, even with Lucy, his tongue would twist when he tried to ask for it.   
  
Finally, one morning, a few days later, they were eating breakfast together. He took a breath. Traced a finger over the cold wooden table. And spoke. "Lucy, the other night, when we were-" The memory pained him. "Fighting."   
  
She frowned, concern flickering in her eyes, her full attention now fixed on him. "Yeah?"   
  
"You... Ah..." Oh, for crying out loud. "You put your arm around me."   
  
"Oh." Wherever she was expecting this to go, that clearly wasn't it. She nodded. "Yeah. Is that... Okay? I just remembered what happened last time, and I thought-"  
  
If she thought she'd done something wrong, he was seriously messing this up. "It was fine, it was-more than fine, actually. I... Wouldn't mind us doing that sometime when we weren't fighting." Now that he was hearing the words, he felt a little ridiculous.   
  
But she didn't laugh.  
  
She smiled, both in relief and in something else, something that toed the edge of amusement. Caught his hand in hers, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. (He would never be over those little gestures.)  
  
"Okay," she whispered.   
  
And that was that.  
-  
It was never after a nightmare.  
  
No, on the nights he woke her up trembling, tears slipping down his cheeks, he would gather her up in his arms, cradle her to his chest, and press his forehead to the top of her hair. Trying to shelter her as much as possible. The world had taken so much from him, and he wasn't about to let it take her, too.  
  
It wasn't often after a really good day, either. When he was happy, he would sprawl out on the bed, and she would lay on his shoulder, lips inches away from his. (Inches away, until they weren't, because Garcia Flynn was very affectionate when he was happy.)   
  
But sometimes, he was just tired. A hard day at work, or a fight with Gabriel, or simply a movie night gone long. On those night, he would flop down on the bed, utterly exhausted, and shift to face the wall.   
  
He never needed to explain. (When did they ever need words?) Lucy would crawl in behind him, wrap an arm around him, and snuggle into his back. Sometimes, she'd keep her ring on, and let the cold metal band rest over his heart, steadying him. She would press a kiss to the back of his neck, tucking her legs behind his.   
  
There was something inexplicably safe about that position. There, in her arms, the horrors of his past faded away, and he could let himself give into sleep, knowing that nightmares wouldn't dare follow.   
  
Sure, he felt a little absurd the first time after their talk. He was almost a foot taller than her, after all; hardly a good candidate for a little spoon. She, of course, smacked him lightly on the shoulder, and told him to let her take care of him. Even if he'd wanted to refuse, he wouldn't have dared, and just at that moment, there was nothing he wanted less in the world.   
  
Sometimes, he would lie awake for hours, listening to her steady breathing by his ear, and let himself marvel in disbelief. Even after everything he had done, and all of the mistakes he had made, he was still there. Still with her. Still happy. (Still allowed to make her happy.)

Finally, he would close his eyes, and drift away, cradled in her arms.

There was nowhere in the world he would rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
